


Hakuna Matata (It Means No Worries)

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grimmons, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, be kind, churboose - Freeform, church has feelings, church is in love, church/grif brotp, grif is whipped, idek, this is my first rvb fic, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hakuna Matata, my brother” Grif leaned back on his hands.<br/>“What?”<br/>“It means no worries”<br/>“I know what it fucking means,” Church snapped, “But what fucking relevance does it have? Why are you bringing Disney into my goddamn sexuality crisis?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hakuna Matata (It Means No Worries)

**Author's Note:**

> For the tumblr anon who wanted a Church sexuality crisis.

Private Leonard L. Church knows a thing or two about life. As the self-proclaimed leader of a revolving cast of two or three idiots, a batshit insane bitch with tremendous anger issues, and a sentient tank that may or may not want him dead, he’s been around the block a few times. If he had to put a pin on the exact moment in time he stopped giving a shit, it would probably land somewhere in between the time he literally died and became a fucking ghost and the time his best friend (by default, mind you) got impregnated with an ancient alien’s baby. He believed he had a pretty solid lid on himself, not succumbing to the ever present option to lose his fucking mind to the constant state of insanity that followed him like his goddamn shadow. He somehow managed to keep his cool in the suffocating heat of that god forsaken canyon. Or at least he did for some time. 

But then everything changed when the booty shorts attacked. 

How Caboose even managed to find a pair of pants in Blood Gulch was a mystery in itself, but then again Church tried not to think too hard on the blonde haired enigma that quite literally ran a fucking tank into the middle of his life. Church tried, he really fucking tried, to keep up the whole I hate everyone, specifically you Caboose act but it became nearly impossible when Caboose walked out of Blue Base one afternoon in a pair of spandex shorts that came to an utterly disrespectful end right at the curve of his ass. He looked like a goddamn porn star, but that wasn’t even the problem. 

Church found himself shockingly unaroused as he watched the soldier stroll around the canyon humming to himself happily. Okay correction: he was totally turned on by the sheer size of Caboose’s ass, but the more pressing issue wasn’t the pressing issue in his pants. Oh no, Church’s problem was much deeper than that.  
Standing on the cliff above, semi-stalkerishly gazing upon the blonde as he picked flowers, Church’s heart leaped in his chest. He felt like the goddamn Grinch who stole Christmas what with all the heart palpitations the younger was giving him. 

Church sighed dreamily to himself, cursing (or maybe thanking) all of the constellations and atoms that had magically come together over the entire existence of the universe that allowed for one Michael J. Caboose to come to be. 

Church was lost in his own little Caboose-filled paradise when he was so rudely interrupted by an honestly impressive burp that blasted over the comlink. 

“Holy shit Grif” Church turned around to see his Red Team counterpart blundering up the cliff to join him. “What the fuck did you eat?” 

“Everything” The Hawaiian shrugged, even though the movement was nearly unnoticeable with all the armor. 

“Aren’t we supposed to be rationing that shit? We’re not due for another supply drop for months” Church thought aloud, because in reality, they all knew that any hope of rationing the food went out the metaphorical window the moment Grif got his hand on the twinkies. 

“Yeah well I was stress eating so I couldn’t control myself” Grif plopped to the ground, his gun sprawled haphazardly across his lap, the safety no-doubt off. Church followed suit, except he kept the zoom button or whatever the hell Tucker called it on so he could continue revel in the euphoric view of Caboose’s ass. 

“Sarge biting your ass again?” Church questioned, knowing that the Sargent’s aggression towards his friend did affect him to some degree, regardless of what Grif said, or rather cursed. 

“Nah” He scoffed, picking at the dead grass with his armor-cladded fist, “Simmons got all pissy because I didn’t come to bed last night, but I tried explaining to him that I had bet three whole frozen waffles on this poker game with Lopez and Donut, and I literally couldn’t leave” The orange armored soldier bitched, growing increasingly exasperated with each word. 

“So long story short…” Church prompted.

“I’m sleeping on the couch for the weekend” Church could practically hear the frown that was no doubt spreading across the Hawaiian’s face.

“At least you have a…” Church trailed off, too consumed by Caboose’s frantic squeals of delight for Shelia to ‘COME QUICK. A BUTTERFRUITFLY IS HERE. SHELIA HURRY.’  
Grif laughed softly at the rookie’s antics, but then turned to his companion, a smirk evident in his voice, “Dude you got it so bad for him” 

Church coughed suddenly, snapped out of his idiot-induced trance, and quickly replied, “Shut the fuck up”

“You should tell him. He only, oh I don’t know, worships the ground you fucking walk on” Church merely shook his head, in response. “Seriously dude, you’d be a hell of a lot happier if you just admitted you’re totally gone for the moron” 

“I’m not totally gone for him he’s just being a fucking slut with those shorts and I’m having a gay panic” 

“Hakuna Matata, my brother” Grif leaned back on his hands. 

“What?” 

“It means no worries” 

“I know what if fucking means,” Church snapped, “But what fucking relevance does it have? Why are you bringing Disney into my goddamn sexuality crisis?” 

“Because it’s not a fucking crisis, the only crisis here is the fact that you’re too stupid to fucking man up and go claim that bootylicious ass” Church gaped at the solider beside him, mainly because of his usage of the word bootylicious but also because he was so blunt about it all. 

“You know what Grif? You’re right” Church blinked at his epiphany. Grif was totally right. Caboose loved Church. Church loved Caboose. Caboose had on booty shorts. Church had every right to aggressively remove said booty shorts. 

“Of course I’m right” the soldier laughed, “I’m me. Now go get em tiger” 

The Blue Team leader hopped to his feet, and eagerly ran down the cliff edge, only to be greeted by an overly excited moron raving about the fucking butterfruitflies. Grif smiled to himself in triumph as he watched Church grab the taller’s hand, dragging him back into the base. 

Suddenly, the orange solider got the perfect idea of how to make it up to his incredibly pissed off boyfriend back at his own base, and it involved Simmons, himself, and a whole lot of Donut’s scented oils and shit. 

And if Blood Gulch Canyon had two more male-pregnancy scares that night, well, Sarge definitely didn’t need to know about it.

**Author's Note:**

> comment for the butterfruitflies  
> badpunsandburnieburns.tumblr.com


End file.
